You Can't Spell Pacifist Without Fist
by Cyanide and Insomnia
Summary: Drabble, no pairings, just shuttles with terrible judgment. "Bottling slag up like that isn't good for you. It's just gonna keep building up if you don't let it out, and the best way to do that's beatin' the living frag out of the nearest person or thing. People tend to be more satisfying."


I don't remember what prompted this, but it probably had something to do with 1)Skyfire's sucky life and how it's indirectly Starscream's fault and 2)how the train is probably the only mech that can actually take a good shuttle-beating if he were to snap.

Warnings: Wanton robo-beatings, guilt, angst, a mech way too cavalier about beatings

* * *

"That's a terrible idea."

Astrotrain shrugged, shifting comfortably on the boulder beside him, another highgrade cube in hand. That was the third one, last count.

If Skyfire wasn't currently preoccupied with wrestling back his rage - frustration, indignation, a directionless blob of fury broiling inside his tanks, searing through his circuits - he might have considered asking him where the frag he was getting all of this stuff.

"Look, I'm just saying," The Decepticon continued, almost unbearably calm. "Bottling slag up like that isn't good for you. It's just gonna keep building up if you don't let it out, and the best way to do that's beatin' the living frag out of the nearest person or thing. People tend to be more satisfying."

The larger mech only coiled tighter, trying to ignore the slight tremor in his frame as he quickly shook his head. "I can't do that. I can't hurt you like that. It's.. pointless, and senseless, and it's not going to do any good for either of us."

He was usually better at this. He usually just let whatever the Autobots did or said roll off his backstruts with the knowledge that they probably, hopefully, didn't intend it that way. But somehow, something had been different. Something had sent him storming out of the base in a wild fury, and all he'd thought to do with that fury was curl up in the desert until it went away.

And now.. he couldn't even conceive of why a mech in his right mind would offer himself up as a punching bag, even if that mind was tempered by one too many cubes of shuttle-grade.

Even if he was one of the few mechs that could probably take such a beating and survive.

"How about if I pretend to be Starscream?"

Skyfire started, unable to do much more than stare at him. There were not enough words in the universe to convey how much of a terrible idea _that_ was.

Apparently taking his disturbed silence as consent, Astrotrain set down the cube and rose to his pedes like an actor entering the stage, affecting the closest approximation to that eternal arrogant sneer as his thick body attempted to contort itself into a posture more fitting of the Air Commander's lithe frame.

He cleared some static from his vocalizer, and the next words came out frighteningly close to his superior officer's screeching pitch: "You worthless traitor! I should have left you in that block of ice where I found you, you pathetic excuse for a taxi!"

Something snapped.

Somehow, the combination of the words, the voice, that obnoxious expression - his processor decided then and there that he was no longer gazing at his fellow shuttle, but rather Starscream himself. And all the pent up rage, frustration, indignation, hurt and hatred suddenly broke free of that carefully guarded dam in his mind and spark.

All he saw was red optics and wing-like shapes as he practically threw himself at the Decepticon, slamming him bodily into the nearest cliff wall. It was all he needed to see as the metal of his fist met the metal of the other mech's plating, colliding with strut-shattering force, unleashing his full strength.

He wouldn't hold back. He couldn't.

"You took _my entire life _away from me, you bastard!" Skyfire screamed, aiming a punch for his prey's helm. And another. "Everything and everyone I ever knew or loved is _gone _because of you! Everything I ever worked for is meaningless!"

He gripped the smaller mech's neck and slammed him into the wall again and again, throwing him around like a ragdoll. More punching, aimed for the chest and helm more than the face. Kicking, fracturing a knee joint. More kicking, right in the midsection. Blow after blow after blow after blow. There was already splatters of energon on the rocks and his hands.

"I've been kicked into the exact place where I fought so fragging hard to escape over all those years - that _you helped me escape_ -"

His grip on his neck tightened to the point which he heard the intakes cut out, other hand tightly gripping an arm and just wrenching the damn thing out of its socket, the cables in the shoulder joint severing far too easily. He tossed the limb away and started ripping at what was left, anything to cause him pain, the pain of millions of years and an entire lifetime lost. He would break his entire body in half if he had to.

" - I've been reduced to a fragging taxi and a mindless soldier in a war I don't believe in _and it's all your fault!_"

He slammed him back into the half-stained deep groove in the wall where his mass had impacted over and over again, pinning him there as he aimed his free hand to punch right through his helm.

Halfway through the motion, he realized what he was doing.

In that instant, he no longer saw Starscream, or a vague combination of red optics and wings that could have been Starscream.

He saw Astrotrain, half his face reduced to a mass of broken plating, exposed circuits and leaking energon, his body more dents than armor, deep dents that also broke through energon lines. He saw a helpless mech dangling from his grip, missing an arm, bleeding heavily and unable to breathe, unable to do much more than watch him with clear pain and fear in his functional optic. He saw a half-broken, relatively innocent mech fully expecting him to continue past the point of no return.

The rage was long gone, replaced by the cold, sick feeling of regret. Shame. Guilt.

Skyfire immediately relinquished his grip and just let him drop, backing away on weakened knees and nearly falling to the ground after him, catching himself on the rock on which only moments ago he'd been sharing a peaceful afternoon with the trainwreck lying before him.

He wanted to leave, but he couldn't. All he could do was sit there and stare at his own energon-splattered hands as though they belonged to someone else, wondering why the frag he couldn't have stopped himself from doing something so stupid, so senseless. He couldn't even apologize to the poor mech. Words refused to come out.

If it had actually been Starscream, would the outcome have been the same? Would he have gone past the point of no return? Would he have ripped the Seeker apart like an overgrown savage?

Would he have been okay with that? Would he even have enjoyed it?

He wasn't entirely sure.

There was a soft, wet cough, breaking him out of his shock trance.

"J.. judging by the look on your face," The half-broken triplechanger croaked, shifting into more of a sitting position with an oddly calm expression on what was left of his own face, energon still running freely down his chin. "That wasn't much help, was it?"

Skyfire hunched up a bit on the rock, wings sagging slightly as he glanced away, unable to look directly at him.

"I told you it was a terrible idea." He mumbled after a moment.

Another moment, and suddenly the smaller mech plopped down on the rock next to him once again as though nothing had happened, despite the damage to his frame. He reached for his unattended cube and gave it a deep swig, hissing as half of it missed his mouth and seeped into his wounds.

What was left was promptly deposited into the larger shuttle's bloodied hand before he could think to stop him, leaving him staring at the thing with equal parts shock and confusion.

"There, maybe that'll cheer you up," Astrotrain said simply, languidly leaning against him on his bad side and grinning slightly when his new pillow shifted uncomfortably beneath the wet, too-warm metal. "When in doubt, drown it out."

Another long pause.

He wanted to tell him he should have suggested that first, unless he'd assumed it would have made it worse. He also wanted to tell him that was a terrible policy.

But all he could really focus on was how nonchalantly the mech was sitting there, bleeding and broken, rummaging around in his hold for more cubes.

"Shouldn't you be leaving? For repairs?"

"Yeah, probably."


End file.
